


Mistletoe Angel

by PeachGO3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Quote: Y yo a ti Cas | Me too (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28312761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: In the last week before Christmas, countless mistletoes appear in the bunker. Dean jokes about it at first.For the Destiel Secret Santa 2020.•♬:✧♡*
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 100
Collections: Destiel Secret Santa Exchange 2020





	Mistletoe Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MegaChoirQueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaChoirQueer/gifts).



Dean holds his coffee cup with concentration. “What’s that?” he asks on his way out and points upwards.

Sam looks up from his computer and bites back a laugh. “A mistletoe, genius.”

“Mistletoe?” Dean squints his eyes. “Where are the spikey leaves? And the red berries?”

“You’re thinking of hollies,” Eileen says helpfully.

“Huh,” Dean says, “I knew that.” He takes a sip of his coffee and walks back to the kitchen. “Either way,” he calls over his shoulder, “I’m gonna get you two under that bad boy.” Or Cas, he adds in his mind. It’s too cute a picture to not imagine it.

Dean loves that Eileen would stay for Christmas; it adds to his already giddy mood. With Sam the Grinch being gone and Miracle the dog added to the family, nothing stood in the way of a truly wholesome Christmas. The end of this year would be completely over the top in the schmaltz department. Maybe even with a Christmas tree, if it were up to Dean. He figures that they kind of earned it – and that they maybe have things to catch up on, considering they had never _really_ had the real thing, not even with Mrs. Butters.

Last Christmas with Jack has been amazing, but _this_ feels like the first true family festivity in years, having Eileen around and basically nothing to worry about besides missing holiday decorations. The only downside is Sam’s lovey-dovey smugness. And the fact that the thought of never having something like _they_ had made Dean slowly lose his mind.

Last week they went on a romantic hunt à deux. Vampire nest. When they had returned, Eileen had accompanied a blood-covered Sam to the bath with such a wide grin that Dean couldn’t even be mad.

Weirdly romantic. Good for them. Dean tries to not let it get to him too closely.

“Hiya, kid,” he greets Jack, who pours himself a tea in the kitchen, Miracle lying by his feet. There is another green bundle above the doorway, Dean notices as he enters. “Jeez,” he says, “the lovebirds really don’t wanna push their luck, hm?”

“Oh, the mistletoes,” Jack says. “Yes, I’ve read about that. I like them.”

Dean gives him a confused look.

“You know, kissing when two people stand below a mistletoe,” Jack clarifies helpfully and cradles his mug with both hands. “I like it. It’s… so random. I mean, Christmas isn’t necessarily a romantic holiday, is it?”

Dean shrugs. “Depends, I guess.” A grin creeps onto his face. “So, you hung them up?” he asks.

“I didn’t,” Jack says with an innocent shake of his head.

“Right,” Dean says, knowingly. Miracle walks over to him for some tender loving care. “Aw, boy, c’mere. Jack, you seen Cas?”

“He said he wanted to read in his room.”

Dean tickles Miracles ears and straightens up to put his empty cup on the counter. “I’mma go get him. The Charlie Brown Christmas Special is on soon,” he says and takes a bag of popcorn with him before leaving. He kind of wishes they had cookies instead, he should bake some soon. Preferably with Cas.

Dean often jokes about it, but he is incredibly thankful that Cas is now permanently living with them, in his own room, not randomly leaving anymore. It’s nice. Now Cas is always available for movie nights. And, more importantly, for family holidays. Dean doesn’t want to let his mind wander too far, because he knows it’s pointless, but he likes to imagine Cas loves staying with them, too.

He adores Christmas pop songs, which should come as no surprise to Dean, really, considering they bought a CD player for the pimpmobile just so Cas could listen to Destiny’s Child while driving. But Dean still kind of thought Cas would be the kind of person to put boy choirs singing hymns on repeat. Something on the more religious side of Christmas. But, no. He listens to Mariah Carey, and Toni Braxton, and Wham. On repeat.

It’s obnoxious, but Dean couldn’t care less, because it’s too much fun to watch Cas move his hands to the music when he thinks nobody’s looking.

“Dean.”

“Hey. You ready for Charlie Brown?”

“Yes,” Cas says with a nod, putting his cheesy novelette down, and stands up from the bed. He meticulously straightens the creases before they leave for the Dean Cave. “I, um… thought about getting pie,” Cas says on the way. “When I’m walking Miracle tonight.”

Dean laughs enthusiastically but tries to tone down his adoration. “Urgh, _perfect_. We ran out last week.” He points at Cas. “You know what? Let’s go together.”

Cas agrees with a smile, and, although Dean has made a habit of it by now, it takes him a moment to realize that Dean is holding the door for him. Adorable.

-ˋˏ ༻☆༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning, when Dean brushes his teeth, he only notices the mistletoe above the bath door through the mirror. It looks exactly like the ones in the kitchen and the library. Very neatly put-together, with a kitschy bow around it and a strip of tape holding it in place. It glitters in pink and golden colors.

That doesn’t look like something Sam would buy, Dean thinks. But then again – the man’s in love. And a bit kinky, apparently. Who hangs mistletoes in the bath?

“She likes seeing herself in the mirror then?” he asks Sam over one of the library tables once they’re alone.

Sam looks up belatedly. “What?”

“The bath?” Dean asks knowingly, wiggling his eyebrows. Sam pretends he doesn’t know anything about it. And then Dean has a very wet dream that night, involving Cas, a mirror and, woefully, the Ariana Grande version of Santa Baby. And the Charlie Brown Christmas choir. Not Dean’s proudest moment.

It’s just – he likes Cas, all right. He adores the soft smile of this goofball of an angel, and the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it prickling of his skin that Dean always figured must be some sort of cosmic radiation – one that, by now, is far too familiar than it has any right to be. He loves how Cas weaves his sweet-tempered presence into everyday tasks. Like, he helps do the dishes.

Not only that, but Cas cares for Dean as a person.

He’s considerate, and weird, and curious, and Dean has a blast just watching him _exist_ in this plain of reality. He has even more fun talking to him – about the most mundane stuff. Watching him watch a movie. Knowing he has developed a very particular taste in books, all on his own. It’s just nice.

Dean loves Cas for all he is, for every single quirk. Even the annoying patterns of speech and inability to sort laundry the right way. The stubbornness (especially on hunts), and the weirdly suggestive use of emojis in texts that sometimes make Dean giggle like a teenager.

Dean loves him, heart and soul. The thing is, he just _also_ really loves to imagine his dick smashing him into a wall until he’s senseless – but whatever, that’s beside the point. He does not _need_ to have Cas that way. He doesn’t _need_ them under a mistletoe. Being friends is enough. Having him stay is enough.

-ˋˏ ༻☆༺ ˎˊ-

The next day is the twenty-first, and there is a mistletoe hanging from the arch of the interdimensional telescope. “C’mon, that isn’t even a doorway,” Dean says with a frown. The dungeon, the armory, the garage – nearly every door has a mistletoe now. It lowkey freaks him out.

“I like it,” Jack says. His Christmas hat jingles softly as he speaks.

“Yeah, but you like everything,” Dean says and returns to the table, glancing at the big book Jack is studying. “What’re you reading about?”

“Krampus. A Christmas monster from Europe, who punishes and abducts children who misbehaved.”

Dean frowns. “Uh, yeah, I know about Evil Santa.”

“Here,” Jack says and turns the book around to show Dean a woodcut. Vivid memories of 2007 shiver down his spine.

“It’s very interesting. There is a whole Krampus cult, with plays in the Christmas time, where they chase around children in the villages. It sounds kinda fun.”

“Yeah, no, you don’t want that. We were there, Sammy and me, with those Pagan motherfuckers. Trust me, it’s awful.” Dean takes a careful step back. “You, uh… know about Elf on the Shelf yet?”

“No, who’s that?”

“Glad you asked,” Dean grins and sits down, shoving the old leather book aside with careful hands. It weirdly feels like shoving away the past. 2007 is just so far away now.

Dean shifts as he remembers those days, and Christmas in the cold motel room with Sam. It wasn’t horrible by any means (better than what they had with their dad anyway). It’s been nice, but he much prefers now, with a costumed Jack sitting across from him, more cozy Christmas lights every day, and Cas to watch movies with under fluffy blankets. Without the fear of only having a year to left to live.

For over a decade, the closest they had come to actual Christmas lights were raindrops on the Impala’s windshield when they twinkled from the streetlamps.

It takes Dean a moment to remember that he wanted to tell Jack about Elf on the Shelf, but just when he opens his mouth to speak, Cas steps into the library with two mugs in his hands.

Dean inhales the scent – “Hot chocolate? Aw, you’re an angel.”

Cas gives him a tired look and puts down the mugs, the ones with the Batman and Robin designs. It looks so cute – no one sprinkles cocoa powder on top of the cream quite like Cas. Dean’s seen him do it once, with a raised pinky.

Lips pressed together, Dean takes his Batman mug. “Perfect timing,” he says. “Yeah,” Jack agrees, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I thought you would like some,” Cas says with a soft smile in Dean’s direction.

“Huh, you know me,” Dean says, looking away. Cas sits down silently beside him and listens to everything Dean proceeds to tell Jack with a tender expression. Not that Dean stole any glances.

When they go outside for a case in Hastings shortly after, Dean notices the mistletoes in both the interdoor and the front door. He rolls his eyes. The far more important observation, however, is that – “It’s snowing! Oh, man, would you look at that!”

-ˋˏ ༻☆༺ ˎˊ-

They have a passionate snowball fight in the middle of the night, but Dean retreats once Sam catches Eileen from behind and holds her still for a kiss that is accompanied by the single most cheesiest handholding Dean has ever seen in his entire life. And he watched Hallmark movies, for God’s sake. Time to get inside and under a hot shower.

-ˋˏ ༻☆༺ ˎˊ-

“Whoop!” Jack almost bumps into Cas when he leaves the kitchen. “Hello,” Dean hears Cas’ gruff voice say. “Hi,” Jack says back, shuffling through the corridor.

“Where are you going?”

“To Sam and Eileen, to help them with the attic.”

“Okay. Be careful, the stairs outside are slippery. And – Jack, there is flour on your face. Go wash yourself first.”

“All right!”

Stormy kid. “Hey,” Dean greets when Cas enters the kitchen, right under the mistletoe. To distract himself, Dean instantly points to the bowl of cookie dough and asks, “Want some?”

“You’re baking,” Cas says, obviously, and puts down the bag he’s been carrying, from downtown. Dean is pretty sure those were Christmas presents. At least he wishes they are. He can hardly wait for the twenty-fifth anymore – it’s like being a four-year-old again. Like Jack, kinda.

His attention is drawn back to the presence when Cas sniffs the dough, much to Dean’s disgust.

“Dude.”

“It’s sugar for baking,” Cas states.

“No,” Dean says decidedly, only half-joking, “it’s for snacking.” He shoves a far too big chunk of dough into his mouth, just for demonstration, and grins at Cas, whose features harden after a moment or two.

“I do not understand why you always seem to actively revert to eating things that aren’t good for you, Dean. You’ll get sick,” he says in a mildly scolding tone, but it’s accompanied by that tiny blink of his eyes. The one that makes Dean want to shower him with sparkling cartoon hearts.

“Never got sick wrom this,” he manages to say before swallowing. He knows that Cas can’t taste things the way humans do, but he still sticks out the bowl for him to take some dough. They often make him try things just for the social experience of it.

Cas sighs, looks at the bowl, and clumsily takes a tiny bit and eats it. He looks like it’s the most boring thing he’s ever had (“molecules”), but after swallowing he softens and smiles, all sappy and doe-eyed. Strong reaction to a knob of cookie dough, but –

Dean stills. Somehow Cas’ smile is even better with the cinnamonic scent of freshly baked cookies and faint Christmas pop music in the air. Much more intimate. Dean’s chest warms rapidly.

“It’s… very lovely,” Cas says, meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Well, leave some for the cookies, sugarplum fairy,” Dean jokes and snatches the bowl away with a grin to distract himself from his crazy heartbeat.

The nickname makes Cas sigh.

Dean extends a hand. “I know, you’re not a fairy. But you, y’know – you’re sweet an’ dainty.”

Cas looks down, and Dean grins. Still got it. Content with his compliment, he turns to the table again, but then Cas says, “So, you’re saying if I was a food item, I’d be high-in-sugar candy.”

Dean considers that. “Nah, not really. I’m just-”

“I’m sure _you_ would be something with a very low nutritional value,” Cas sasses from the other side of the table, “like French fries, or a hamburger.”

Dean turns around to give him a disbelieving look, saying, “C’mon, you love burgers.”

Cas’ gentle features tell him it’s all been in good fun though. He looks like a grandpa with his soft face and the slouchy shoulders when he changes the topic: “Do you need any help?”

Dean does not, but of course he still says yes.

They bake together and talk a bit more, about this and that. About how enthusiastically Jack had helped bake the first sheet and hasn’t let anything burn. About how busy the streets were with Christmas shoppers. “It was… quite the buzz.”

“Always is.”

“And getting worse. I’m glad to be home now, actually,” Cas says when he cuts out a chocolate cookie, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Dean gets ready to attack him with a handful of flour, but then Cas straightens up (to compliment him on the music playing from the CD player?) and catches him right in the act, with a playful hand holding Dean’s wrist in place.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, with the eyes of someone who knows full well they could snap this arm in half if they wanted to. But Dean uses his free hand to bop his nose anyway, which does the trick, because he has flour stuck up right to his elbows. It stays on Cas’ nose. “No escape,” Dean murmurs dramatically.

“Dean…”

“Don’t give me those eyes, man. You come in here, you know what you sign up for: you snack cookie dough and you get into flour fights. Provided you help clean up afterwards, so I hope you ain’t busy.”

“I’m not.” Cas smiles at him with a shake of his head, fingers brushing gently against Dean’s wrist before letting go. He looks so cute – oh, Dean has an idea. He wipes his hands on the apron and whips out his phone from his back pocket. “Lemme take a picture, okay?”

“Err… with the cookies. Are they in the frame?”

“Yup. All right. Say cheese…!”

Another one, for good measure. And a third one, with a peace sign.

Oh yes, this is a photo worthy as a background image. Dean stares at it with a grin – Cas next to the kitchen table, body weirdly bent so that both he and the cookies are definitely in, with flour still stuck to the tip of his nose. _Adorable_.

Cas insists on taking a selfie with the two of them afterwards. It’s as bad as always. But cute.

As they quietly sink into the routine of their task when they resume it, Dean once again realizes how much he has missed Cas’ company, despite basically living with him. He misses it every day. It’s strange and kind of pathetic. But Dean likes it. He likes being sappy, and he likes being sappy _with Cas_ , probably because he might be the only person on the entire planet to completely go along with it without ever mocking Dean – for being touch-starved, for talking too much, for falling silent all of a sudden.

Sometimes it feels like meeting another boat on an ocean full of strangers. A boat that’s always a welcome partner. They wave at each other from afar, happily, and dance together. And every time they part, Dean is afraid to look back and wave, but he knows the time has been good.

It isn’t the same with Eileen, or even Jack and Sam. Dean would always turn around to wave them from his little boat.

But it’s not as easy to slip into silence with them that actually felt intimate instead of uncomfortable. Even if this thing that he and Cas have would ultimately lead nowhere – which, to be clear, was the more than likely scenario, for all those longings – Dean valued the quiet moments.

Especially when they are spent doing stuff like washing Baby, or doing grocery shopping, or baking Christmas cookies. Cas likes using the snowman cookie cutter. Somewhen, he says that it kind of looks like Dean – which makes absolutely no sense, but Cas delights in his own comparison anyway.

Dude’s in an awfully good mood, Dean finds.

Sap.

Later, when Cas helps him clean the mess they made, he sings to himself. “Pa rum pum pum pum…” – over and over again. Dean briefly considers calling him Whitney as a joke but ultimately doesn’t, because he fears the self-awareness would make Cas stop. So he just watches him dreamily from the safe distance of the kitchen table between them.

Somewhen, Cas notices and falls silent, staring back all soft. Head tilting slowly, plump lips parted.

Once again, Dean ignores his racing heart in favor of a clumsy wink, which makes Cas roll his eyes. But after only a few minutes, he sings again. Smiles to himself.

It’s all very blissful and more than Dean could have ever hoped for. A joyful dance. However, when they part later on, he could swear he saw Cas looking at the doorway’s mistletoe just a second too long. Not that Dean _actually thought about asking him_ this afternoon… It’s just… It’s a goddamn sad image.

Unfortunately, Dean is miserable enough to carry it in his mind even on the next day, too.

Mistletoes everywhere, jaunty lovebirds making out in literally every corner of the bunker, and here’s Dean, withering away as the pining mess he is. He’s vaguely angry at Sam and his damned unawareness about the whole matter. Not that Dean has _told_ him anything – he wasn’t a goddamn idiot – but why did they have to make this family holiday about… making out?

Cas probably understands _nada_ about all of this anyway. He barely understood Elf on the Shelf – how could a wavelength of celestial intent possibly comprehend something as ridiculous as a mistletoe kiss? Let alone Dean wanting to give him one? Or two, maybe, just for good measure?

Asking such a thing of him… would probably not be as a dramatic as Dean fears, but a fear it remains.

Dean feels alone. Which sucks, because tomorrow is Christmas Eve. He should feel happy. He’s also sick, because he ate too much cookie dough. Cas makes him a soup, with all the ‘told you so’ commentary that Dean deserves as a side dish.

“The cookies are delicious though,” Jack says, trying to be helpful. “If it’s any consolation.”

Dean just grumbles as he watches his phone’s background fade to black. This sucks.

-ˋˏ ༻☆༺ ˎˊ-

It’s long past midnight, and the mistletoe beneath the door to the Dean Cave takes the fucking biscuit. “Son of a bitch,” Dean curses, practically foaming. Goddammit, this was enough – he doesn’t want his brother making out with his girlfriend under _his door_. What the hell!

He doesn’t – want – _Saileen_ – making out – here! Especially considering that Dean himself couldn’t kiss a damn soul here, under this stupid mistletoe. Urgh! He rips it down furiously.

When he’s back in the library, just in his underwear, corpus delicti in his hands, Dean is ready to snarl, ‘This is excessive and sick’ into his brother’s ear – but he only finds Cas. Decorating a new row of Christmas lights – not on a bookshelf this time, but a green tree. A conifer. On his toes.

Dean softens as his gaze widens. A Christmas tree?

Cas notices him before he says anything: “Ah – hello, Dean,” he smiles as he leaves the Christmas lights and turns to Dean, dark hair glistening as though snowflakes have melted in it – and despite the overwhelming situation, it does not escape Dean’s attention that his blue angel eyes take him in all shamelessly.

A shiver of self-awareness rushes through Dean’s body.

“Thanks, I feel naked now,” he says with a swallow. And probably a blush, considering the heat creeping into his cheeks.

Cas looks down with a tiny smile. “My apologies. In my defense, you _are_ almost completely naked. Aren’t you cold?”

“Naah, my nipples are always this perky,” Dean smirks, realizing exactly one second too late what he had said and closing his eyes in regret. Now his head is boiling with blood. Wow.

“They are very pretty,” Cas replies, as if complimenting someone’s _fucking house plants_ , and Dean rolls back his shoulders with a deep breath. Sober up.

“I, uh. Was on my way to get pajamas. Uhh – yeah. Nice tree, buddy.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise… but thanks,” Cas sighs and looks at it fondly. “I logged it myself.”

“Just now? Nice work,” Dean says, clearing his throat. Cas logging a tree like that – it is almost ten feet tall. The two kinked branches only add to its charm, even the kitschy stand looks sweet.

With his angel strength, Cas could probably lift it just like that. Probably hummed a song on his way inside here with a whole ass tree over his shoulder.

So much for sobering up. Dean softens with nostalgia and joy and gratefulness. And love. A real Christmas tree, here, in their home – like normal people. It’s almost too good to be true. He’s almost forgotten he had wished for one in the first place.

They hadn’t talked about it for ages. The surprise is perfect for Dean, but somehow he can’t show his joy.

“We could’ve, y’know…” he begins. “Gone together. Logged it together.” Used the long drive for a Beyoncé sing-along in the car.

“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if you felt better yet, so I didn’t ask.”

“I’m… better, yeah. Thanks,” Dean says, swallowing down his sentimentality once and for all. “We’re gonna put you on top then?” he jokes, softer than he means to, and flashes Cas a smile.

Cas just tilts his head, lips parted, and Dean aborts. He isn’t exactly in peak condition for talking. “Uhh, listen,” he says, all tense, “you seen Sam?”

“He went outside with Eileen before I left.”

“Outside? As in, on a date?” Dean asks but quickly adds, “Doesn’t matter, anyway. That bastard hung a mistletoe in my door. Just saw it on my way back from the bathroom, to get my pajamas, you know, minding my business – and then I see this? That’s the last goddamn straw. I was happy to play along with the rest, but this… this is just sick.”

Cas swallows and questioningly tilts his head, now to the other side. Licks his lips. He looks caught, weirdly enough.

“You can’t know, sorry, man,” Dean sighs. “The mistletoe, that’s a… a sacred tradition. For Christmas kisses, y’know?”

“I – I know. Jack told me,” Cas says, but his voice sounds broken and his eyes look like fractured crystals when they flutter. The sight immediately makes Dean forget his anger. Instead, concern for Cas floods his mind – He says his name and steps closer. “Hey, you all right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” Cas replies far too loudly for it to be genuine. He sniffs and slowly turns around to the tree.

And looks ridiculously tiny in front of it.

As Dean watches him and the green branches, watches the pink bows and lights, the tacky Christmas tree stand and Cas’ sad back, an idea strikes his mind and decides to stay: Castiel hung all those mistletoes. And now he is sorely disappointed.

Dean’s ribcage morphs into stone.

“Um… sorry?” he utters, clueless. He scratches his head when Cas does not turn around. His deep voice just hums as he fumbles with the lights.

Dean has been so sure Sam was the one responsible that he never considered someone else. Did Cas seriously hang mistletoes _everywhere_? Even the bath? Did he want to be _kissed_ or what? By whom…?

No, oh, fuck no. Poor angel, is all Dean can think. He totally misunderstood the whole thing. Much to Dean’s misery.

“Listen, um – I really don’t wanna put any more salt into the wound, but mistletoe kisses ain’t exactly a ‘friends’ thing,” he says carefully. He really should have addressed this sooner, dammit.

Cas lowers the tangled Christmas lights in frustration and turns around slowly. He looks absolutely broken, with his wide eyes and pouty lips.

Dean swallows. “They’re a ‘couple’ thing,” he explains in increasing unease, holding up the mistletoe he unceremoniously ripped from his Cave’s door. He feels disgusted by himself. This was a gesture of Cas’ friendship after all, and he…

“Like – a romantic thing,” he continues, hoping that his galloping heartbreak wouldn’t show in his voice. “Sexual, sometimes, but, yeah… That kinda thing.”

“I know.”

“It’s not something that friends do,” Dean clarifies slowly. Mostly for himself. “Sam and Eileen, oh, they had a blast. I think they appreciated it,” he adds with a smile to cheer Cas up.

It doesn’t work. Cas looks down. The tiniest smile flashes across his features before they irreversibly harden. Shoulders straightening up, nose exhaling sharply as his jaw clenches. Coldly.

Great, Deano. You’ve done it again. Made the angel get in a huff.

Mechanically, Cas leans down and grabs a bag from behind the tree. “Yeah. Doesn’t matter now. Um, here,” he says, thin-lipped. “Part of the surprise. I wanted to gift you those tomorrow, so we could wear them on Christmas Eve. But you’re here now, so take it. It’s yours.”

This matter does not seem resolved at all.

Frowning, Dean takes the bag. Inside, there’s a Christmas sweater so ugly he wants to throw up. Green, with terrible red Christmas patterns across the chest and deeper green around the neckline.

He shakes his head with a disbelieving chuckle. He wants to cry. “That’s… very green.”

“Yes,” Cas says quietly, “I thought it… would match your eyes.”

“Oh, Cas…” When Dean looks up now, he finds Cas looking at him so broken, yet _hopeful_ , that the last puzzle piece finally clicks into place. But the final picture is goddamn terrifying. God, Dean needed answers, or else he would lose his fucking mind.

“Cas,” he says slowly, tensing up. “You did hang up mistletoes as… a friendship thing. Right?”

Cas squints and raises his chin before lowering it with a glare, downright growling, “Who hangs mistletoes as a ‘friendship thing’?” Even his air quotes look passive-aggressive.

Dean shifts. “…You?”

“It’s not a friendship thing, Dean! You said it yourself! I was… selfish, maybe, to do this, and I’m sorry you disliked it so much, but I couldn’t help myself,” Cas babbles with wide eyes and whirling arms, “because I’m _that_ starven for what you have promised me for years now.” It almost looks like he wants to fight the smile on his face when he adds, “Your touch promises me _peace_ , and your eyes _promise me peace_ , but you never knew. I don’t even think you know that you are absolutely full of love, but I see it. Everybody sees it. These last few days made it shine from inside you brighter than ever before. From the moment I first saw it, I mellowed, and I have been mellowing ever since, bound by something I realized too late had no counterspell. So, no, Dean, this is, very much, a desperate – indulging – romantic gesture, one I foolishly thought was free of the possibility of rejection. I realize now that all this… derailed.” He pauses for a moment to look for words. “And now I look like a fool for telling you how I feel, for telling you that I… that I love you.”

Dean stares like his brain just shorted out.

Cas always says shit like that – _It would match your eyes. I’ll make you a soup. I’ll watch over you._

 _Your touch promises me peace._ And now, _I love you._

But it all makes sense now, because Cas would. He would make hot chocolate when he saw Dean sitting in the library, and buy pie together with him. He would try cookie dough if Dean wanted him to, even though he could only taste molecules. He would log a Christmas tree as a surprise for Christmas Eve and buy ugly Christmas sweaters for the whole family.

 _He_ _would_ hear that people kiss under mistletoes and overload the whole bunker with them if it meant that he could have a kiss without having to ask for one, so that stupid fucking Dean Repressed Winchester would finally notice. Dean Winchester, who just lectured him about how _inherently romantic_ mistletoes were, while standing in front of him in nothing but boxer briefs and Santa socks.

Cas thinks he’d push him away.

The sheer thought – Yes, he could’ve asked. But no wonder he’s scared of rejection, with Dean’s carefully practiced repression shoving away every single display of affection. With Dean himself not daring to ask, he better keep his goddamn mouth shut about this.

What the hell – they’ve both wanted this – Dean swallows again, harder. He’s an idiot. A real, honest to God, class A idiot.

Cas must have noticed that he finally understood, because his eyebrows rise and his lips thin, and he smiles sheepishly, and Dean wants to storm forward and hug him. But he’s frozen to the spot.

“Cas,” he says, his voice all hoarse. “For… f-for how long?”

“I don’t know,” Cas laughs. Relieved, now that this is off his chest. “Very long, I suppose.”

“I’m really fucking dense, aren’t I.”

“You aren’t. I… It’s my fault, I’m the one to blame,” Cas says with a happy shake of his head, and Dean wants to _wail_ at how wrong he is. “Well, um… saying something like that doesn’t make you – it’s – y-you’re no fool,” he stammers, struggling to keep it together.

Cas softens even further when he answers, “I have been, for only telling you now.”

And Dean all but melts – oh, fuck, FUCK! His heart is close to pounding out of his chest, blood pumping through his ears and all, because after all of this, something needs to be _done_. He needs to act _now_. And that damned bag needs to go literally anywhere else, so Dean tosses it onto one of the tables. Now he stands in front of Cas, his best friend, with nothing but that stupid, kitschy, enchanting mistletoe in his hands, _yearning_ for warmth and acceptance.

Say it back, idiot. _Say it._

With a helpless smile and a shaking arm, Dean raises the bundle above his head. It’s the best he can do at the moment. “It ain’t a doorway,” he smiles timidly. “But I got bowlegs, so… y’know, that may as well count.”

“Dean…”

Words of encouragement get stuck in Dean’s tight throat. He just stares with teary eyes. Helplessly, bashfully. Pleading, maybe. _Please._

Its more than enough though. Just as timid, Cas bites his lip and then takes a step forward. He eyes Dean’s bare chest and exhales shakily before laying his warm, rough hands onto it. Lets them wander, to Dean’s neck, his cheeks. Strokes them tenderly like he’s touching them for the first time. When he leans in, their noses brush tentatively, gently, and Dean swallows down any doubt that might have been left.

Both breathe in deeply, gasping at the sudden closeness, as if it’s something new. It is, and it’s not at the same time – they feel different, soaking in the other’s warmth.

Cas’ trenchcoat is a bit cold though. He smells of forest green, Dean notices, allowing his free hand to run through the dark, damp hair, watching Cas lean into the touch with relish. Stares at Cas’ mouth. Wonders what he would taste like.

Dean tilts his head and parts his lips to welcome Cas. Nudges him with his nose, not playfully but utterly desperately. Oh, he is so close, so close…

“Kiss me already, you-”

Cas’ lips cut him off, and his throaty chuckle vibrates deliciously in Dean’s mouth when they start moving against each other. Slow at first, but then the craving takes over, and it’s getting fast. Cas’ lips are dry and rough, as is his stubble. He’s hungry. And he’s strong, holding them in place just like this. Slides his tongue inside Dean’s mouth expertly. A bit unsure maybe, but goddamn, it’s sexy.

What person, who gives kisses _like that_ , has trouble asking for one? Cas really did want to do this for the longest time, huh?

Damn, _Dean_ did want to do this for the longest fucking time. Oh, God, he has it bad.

Letting go of any restraint that might have been left, he all but melts into Cas’ familiar warmth, completely letting himself fall. Meeting his touch. Lowering his fucking arm to finally embrace Cas properly and getting pulled even closer. With a sigh, he finds a tab at the back of the trenchcoat to hold onto.

The mistletoe falls to the cold ground as their lips slide against each other. It’s instinctive rather than skillful. Or experienced.

But Dean lets it all happen. He responds tenderly to Cas’ boldness, lets his tongue lick every corner of his mouth with that slight cosmic prickle. He finds that Cas tastes of the cookies they baked, which is earth-shattering, considering he can’t taste and doesn’t know hunger.

The sheer sentimentality of it makes Dean whine. He gasps into their kisses when Cas’ curious hands slide down, over his magically tingling anti-possession tattoo, to his nipples, rubbing them appreciatively.

His touch sends the heat straight to Dean’s cock, and he allows it all. Hell, _enjoys_ it all, without any second thoughts. His head rolls forward, groans filling the hall, and then, when Cas starts thumbing his nipples with rhythmic pressure, he’s completely letting loose, mouth falling open, chest out and hips rolling forward, desperately wishing there was a leg between his. Cas continues his sweet ministrations, pumping more and more love into Dean with increasingly rough rubs.

Goddammit, they were his weak spot after all.

Dean can’t tell if Cas knows what he is doing to him right now, but he seems more than happy about Dean’s moans (and his sensitive nipples), because he grunts appreciatively into their next kiss, running his hands over Dean’s sides now, over the ribs marked with Enochian spells, and Dean’s whole body shudders with pleasure, pressing hard against Cas. Grabbing his hair, finding Cas likes that because it pulls a guttural moan from him.

Fuck, this is good. Talk about a mistletoe kiss.

Dean rolls his hips forward to meet Cas, seeking friction. Bashfully, he reaches for that messy blue tie, loosens it, half-way slides the trenchcoat down from Cas’ shoulders and earns a possessive lip bite in return. As if to reward him for the move, Cas’ hands are on his chest again, and he starts rolling both nipples between his fingers – good _Lord_ – and uses the moment of surprise to shove his tongue so far down Dean’s throat, salvia dripping, breaths short and hot, that Dean moans helplessly into the quiet library once again, hips rolling.

Only this time, his legs almost give in.

The lamps explode when finally, Cas shoves a thick leg between his, and then Cas’ hands are on Dean’s ass and squeeze it, pull him closer by it, against Cas’ own – oh, God, his _cock_ , he’s _hard_ – and his teeth find Dean’s neck, and then a silky tongue soothes the flesh before his teeth come down again.

Dean falls apart. “F-fuck…!” – This is it. If he doesn’t intervene he’ll come right here, on the spot, in his Scooby Doo underwear.

“Cas,” he pants, a weak hand stroking the damp hair. “Cas, stop, I’ll…” It’s hard to escape Cas’ ravenous mouth, but Dean manages by resting his forehead against his, collecting himself and his breath.

It takes Cas a second to understand, and he exhales shakily. His hungry hands soften their touch and wander upwards to Dean’s back. Stroke him sweetly. Grunting, Dean leans into the hug. Legs shifting. Breathing hard through his nose. Okay.

…He’s got a throbbing, rock-hard boner.

From _Cas!_ They both sport boners! From what was supposed to be a mistletoe kiss! That needy for each other, huh?! Man, this is ridiculous – and hot. Dean doesn’t want it to end _here_. Not in front of the fucking Christmas tree, where they would soon exchange gifts with the family. No way. Cool down. _Cool the fuck down._

“G-goddammit,” he pants. Gasps when he opens his eyes to find the room half-dark. “Holy shit.”

“Hm, not quite,” Cas hums and presses a kiss to his nose. It makes Dean laugh timidly, his breath calming down at the sight of the disheveled angel in his arms. His hair messy, his lips swollen red – just perfect.

“You are impossible,” Dean sighs. “You wanted to do this in the bathroom doorway, you kinky bastard.” Projecting, ha.

Cas pulls away to look at him ever so softly. Blue eyes full of – love.

Fuck. For the past decade, this has been right under Dean’s nose. _This_. Them, together. This angel, who could snap him to dust with a mere thought. But Cas _cares_. Against every single one of Dean’s inklings, he _loves_. He was _scared_ of rejection.

Dean steps back and brings up his hand to cup Cas’ face, because he needs to do this ardent gesture to get his love out there _or he’ll burst_ – and Cas melts against his touch, his stubble a soft rasp against Dean’s palm. A perfect fit.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers. “I, I didn’t notice. I thought…” He strokes his thumb over Cas’ face and the cute blush sitting high on his cheekbones. Did _he_ put that there? “I thought angels were… y’know…”

“Celibate?”

“Incapable,” Dean presses out with a terrible frown. “Of… loving someone this way. Loving someone like me this way. God, I’m so sorry. I never would’ve pushed you away, Cas.” He swallows. “You and I, we… we wanted the same thing. I might’ve been weird about it at first, because I’m a fucking douche. But not in the long run, not with you.”

Listening closely, Cas takes in everything Dean says. Then nods. “You are no douche,” he says simply and pulls Dean into another hug, trenchcoat scratching gently against his exposed skin. Cas’ fingers rub tender circles on his shoulder as the two sway in silence, and Dean realizes it’s okay. It’s apologetic. All is good between them.

However, when Dean grows too uncomfortable with his half-hard cock pressing against Cas’ leg, they part, chuckling awkwardly, but even that is the intimate kind of awkward. Dean’s naked skin sweats despite the December temperatures. Wow, wow, wow.

“Should we, um…” He clears his throat and looks at Cas knowingly. Flicks his tie with a playful finger. God, it feels so good to allow himself to do this. No shame in it.

“Go somewhere more private? Yes,” Cas says in that wonderfully unnecessary fashion of his. He plants a chaste kiss onto Dean’s jaw and adds, “Your room will be cold. Take the Christmas sweater, it will look good on you, I’m sure. And if you wear it,” he adds with a lascivious rub of his stubble, “I can take it off of you and unwrap you like a Christmas present all over again.”

Dean smiles against his cheek as a pleasant shiver runs down his spine. “You really just… come up with stuff like that, hm?”

“Hey – you’re the one running around naked. Also… hmmm, just wait for what I can make _you_ come up with,” Cas growls and chuckles as if he’s just messing with Dean after all, the cheeky bastard. “I goddamn hope you bought one of those atrociously ugly rags for yourself, too,” Dean snickers to cover up his blush.

“A blue one.”

“Hell yeah.” Dean smiles and lets Cas cuddle him for a while. Lets him press a kiss to Dean’s lips. Then to his jaw, his neck, and then his lips again, while holding him tight.

Something in Cas changes when his forehead rests against Dean’s shoulder. A shaky breath and he shivers. The trenchcoat almost slips free from his shoulders, and for a moment, the unplugged lights on the tree flicker to life, shining through the dark. “I love you, Dean,” he sobs, quietly.

Dean sighs and wraps his arms around him tight. A hand in his damp hair, gentle and unapologetic. Letting Cas bathe in _his_ warmth for a change. Letting him in all the way, because really neither of them could bail anymore now, like they have apparently done for years.

It’s nice. It’s a nice feeling.

Dean finds it cathartic to feel both their tears on his skin. And when he finally says, “And I you, Cas”, it’s from the bottom of his heart, and completely without fear.

**Author's Note:**

> just fyi Cas totally has the awkward baking selfie as his lockscreen
> 
> Happy holidays to everyone, and particularly to MegaChoirQueer! I hope you enjoy your gift (´ ∀ ` *) ♡ (Our tumblr blogs are both currently named “y yo a ti, Cas”, which is why I felt like ending it on that note haha!)
> 
> ¡Feliz Navidad!


End file.
